Phobia
by Darkest-Doctor
Summary: Jack wants to know what the Doctor is afraid of. JackDoctor slash oneshot


This fic was spawned when I got the image of the absolutely terrified Doctor leaping into Jack's arms and began searching through a list of phobias to find something completely random. First fic done...wo0tish!

Summary: Jack wants to know what the Doctor is afraid of.  
Rating: T for Tremendous  
Pairing: Jack/Doctor  
Disclaimer: I own everything. Of course I own everything. "Doctor Who" is so totally mine, along with "Okage: Shadow King". May I be struck down with lightning if I lie. (fried crispy)

Phobia

I, Captain Jack Harkness, playboy extraordinaire and resident immortal human being, like to know what scares people. It comes with the job description: as a playboy, it's imperative to know who or what to watch out for and how to appear as the Knight-In-Shining-Armor for the Damsel-In-Distress.

In this case, however, I was slowly turning out to be the Not-So-Shining-Knight attempting to protect the Damsel-Who-Is-Really-An-Alien-Genius-Doctor-In-A-Brown-Trench-Coat from any nonexistent fears that may crop up. It's as if the man doesn't have a single thing that he is really, truly scared of. Sure, the Daleks are direly imposing and the concept of genocide incites feelings of terror, but, then again, what lifeform doesn't wet its shorts over those options?

Still, I am determined, resolute, obstinate, and all sorts of other fancy words to describe "stubborn", and damned if I don't find out what the Doctor is scared of.

It all started one luckless day on the TARDIS. Rose was sitting as close as she could to the Doctor, making sadly concealed moon-eyes at the oblivious Time Lord. Said Time Lord was tinkering with something on the console, muttering to himself and giving the object in question dirty looks every time it did something it wasn't supposed to. As for me, I was lounging on the floor, scribbling into a notebook (not a diary, I swear on my life) about my plans to finally seduce the Doctor and make him my willing, pliant love-slave……

Okay, so that was a bit far-fetched, but I can dream, can't I? Hell, at this point, I would've been happy for a snog-and-run, but the Doctor's like a friggin' ice cube. Would it kill him to melt just a little bit and not threaten my manly bits with his screwdriver every time I so much as _think_ of his ass? I don't think so.

Anyway, it wasn't long before Rose started screeching terribly over something and began to leap up in her chair, flailing an arm towards the floor while trying to get as far away from the deck as possible.

Apparently, a spider-creature had hitched a joyride on the TARDIS with us and had decided to shock Rose senseless by laying some eggs against her ankle. I'm not entirely sure why she freaked out so badly, even if the bug was around the same size of a tarantula. I'm going to assume it had something to do with the fact that it had a human eye on its back with an extra set of tentacle attached to its rear end.

Being the fantastic knight I am, I was three seconds and two feet away from making arachna-roadkill on the back of my notebook, except that a random piece of scrap metal came hurtling at my head the same time I was prepping to swing.

"Don't kill it!" the Doctor admonished, scooping the spider-thing up and peering at its facial region closely. "Oh, you are a beauty, aren't you? Fancied a ride, eh?"

And I can't really remember what he said right after that, because he went on for about ten minutes talking in scientific species mumbo-jumbo and I probably couldn't spell half of the words he rattled off without three dictionaries and an Advanced English professor. Skipping past the genius bit, we ended up making an about-face and rushed back to the little insect's homeworld to drop him off. Of course, it wasn't nearly that simple and we were nearly cannibalized by little purple pygmy people (try to say that three times fast), but the experience opened my eyes to a new facet in the plan for my beloved Doctor's affections: what made shivers run down the Doctor's spine? If I could find that out, then I could make myself ready for the day that it would appear and then I could prove to the Doctor that I was a worthy mate capable of looking after my partner and our precious little children and _you in the back, I can see you so stop that giggling!!!_

This task was easier said than done. I needed to focus all my energies upon discovering and possibly exploiting the fear of the Doctor, whatever it may be. And so was born "The List". "The List" was an active collection of every scary idea I had come up with to test against the Doctor's mettle, and since I love my audience with every bit and piece of my soul I have, I shall give you a few excerpts.

**1. Spiders: As creepy and crawly as the little buggers are, the only thing the Doctor seems to be worried about with these is whether or not Rose's screaming will shatter something.**

**34. Dolls: Honestly, I have a closet fear of these. They're just so damn creepy, always staring at me. Waiting for me to drop my guard. Waiting. Waiting and watching for the day they can devour my liver when I drop my guard. They won't get me…no, they won't. Never. The Doctor thinks they're cute.**

**204: Japanese Sushi Bars: Those things are walking death traps with all those knives and fish bits flying around. True story: my cousin's best friend's ex-roommate's son's boyfriend's niece nearly lost an arm at one of those joints. Hence why I like to have my sushi delivered. The Doctor, however, likes to jump behind the counter randomly and try his hand at the job. ("What's a few missing finger bits, eh Jack?")**

In total, I've tested 368 methods of fear known to man, and another 120 that aren't, and good couple dozen that allegedly scare the piss out of Daleks. About fifty obtained a significant reaction, and all of those were positive. Of course, I'm Captain Jack Harkness and I'm five flavors of obstinacy, so I wasn't about to give up. There was one little snag, naturally, what with me being killed and left behind and all that, but since when has death ever stopped me?

That hand in the back, I can already guess what you're going to ask. No, the Doctor didn't put me off with that little speech about me being "wrong" and no, I did not go crawling back to Torchwood like a sentimental hog. I stayed right where I was, thank you. Someone has to help the Doctor prevent all these near-genocides, right?

So, back on task, we got along well enough for the next few months and I continued with my plan, adding such things as "Plutarch V's Snorgles" and "Ari's Shorts" to "The List". Did I mention Ari? Sweet bloke, really handy in the kitchen. We picked him up just outside of this town called Tenel a few worlds left of Adromeda. I don't think he's all there sometimes, because he talks a lot to his shadow. That boy, no matter how far out to lunch he is, is now my new good luck charm and I never leave the TARDIS without him. If it wasn't for him, I never would have found out what the Doctor was scared of.

See, it was Ari's turn to pick out next adventure, and the kid isn't too well-read on interplanetary travel, so he just plops his finger on a spot on the map and off we go. The Doctor didn't looked too pleased this time around.

"Er…you sure we should go there, Ari?" he asked, glancing back and forth between Ari's finger and the controls.

"What's wrong with this place?" Ari asked, cocking his head in that oh-so-adorable puppy-like way of his. I heard a snort from somewhere and my eyes shot to that shadow of his. That makes it the third time I've heard something weird. I think the shadow can talk.

"Nothing's wrong!" the Doctor said, quite uncomfortable as he began making obscure gestures. "But…it's just that this place is so incredibly…boring."

"Boring?" I repeated, eyebrows launching into my hairline. Now that was new. Nothing, _nothing_, was ever boring to the Doctor. If that man can entertain himself for five hours with a simple electric toothbrush, I'm fairly sure that it is impossible for anything to be boring. Could it be that the infallible Doctor was…scared?

"Well, not so much boring as having very little to do," the Doctor saved, attempting to cover for the faux pas. "That planet doesn't really have much to do on it, so maybe we should just— "

"I think it's pretty," Ari said. (I tried to ignore the repeated snort, I really did.) Ari had managed to pull up the planet's statistics onto the main computer screen and, while he couldn't read it, he could see that the planet's surface was a pleasant smattering of fuschia hues. Closet fairy, I swear on my life. I can sense them. It took five minutes of the Doctor's ramblings, three minutes of my pleading, and two seconds of Ari's puppy eyes before we took off and arrived on a planet called Harsi VI. Ari took off like a school boy's pet rabbit on crack, "ooing" and "ahhing" at everything he saw and practically diving at the foliage in his eagerness to inspect it. I, however, was on a more important mission.

The Doctor was on the alert, visibly, and I could see his eyes darting back and forth nervously as if awaiting some certain peril. I waited, experiencing some emotion quite similar to anticipation as I prepared for when the Doctor would finally fold and crack under the pressure like a fragile twig. There was a rustling in the bushes; the Doctor started and leaned a little closer to me. Honest to God, I didn't expect this to happen at all. We heard another rustle in the bushes and the Doctor clapped his hands together, shifting even closer to me.

"Right then!" he announced, voice pitching in an octave he should've lost during puberty. "I think we've seen all we can here, let's get back to the TARDIS and we can go someplace else!"

"Doctor, is something wrong?" I prodded, taking advantage of the situation to brush my hand against his. His fingers clutched at mine. Cue my internal squealing.

"We really need to go," he pressed, drawing out his "really" urgently. It was cute. "We really, really, _really_ need to go. Now, Jack."

"Where's the fire?" I countered, glancing around to find what the rustling noises had been. "I don't see anything."

"Oh, they'll be here soon. They always come. Always…"

"Who?"

That was about the same time that the planet's native inhabitants popped from the foliage.

Now, you don't even need to be terrified of these people like the Doctor is. They scare you shitless no matter who you are; it's how they welcome you. This culture likes to explode from the foliage when newcomers arrive, hauling the foreigners up over their shoulders and rushing them to a town where they shove food and drink down your throat. Very friendly people, but very blunt. They look very much like humans, except that I haven't seen any females at all and they're all pretty short and stubby looking. Like dwarfs, I suppose, but without the retarded Disney outfits. Oh, and they're all bald. All of them. One guy's head was so shiny, I could see myself in it. But I digress.

The Doctor had instantaneously leapt into my arms once the flora had exploded into little men, clinging to my jacket and trying to scrabble higher against my chest as the men rushed foreward. I got that funny little tingling sensation all over my skin, like the one you get when somebody touches you in the dark and you didn't know they were there. Of course, the short blighters had to go and ruin the moment by latching onto the Doctor and tugging him from his death grip on my body. The Doctor all but shrieked once a pair began to cart him away. His scream is very pretty, you know. Very suggestive. At least I was entertained by a few choice images before a new set hauled me over their heads and sprinted off. My pair of dwarves ran parallel to his and I could tell that he was whimpering behind his tightly sealed lips. Part of me was prickling defensively for my soon-to-be lover, and a different part was dancing in circles because I had finally found out what scared the crap out of the Doctor. Another part, overcome with hunger, was preparing to cannibalize the other two, so I was pleased enough when we finally arrived at their city. Food was laid out on long tables, the aromas siphoning out and sending Ari into a Pavlov frenzy. I was distracted to say the least; the second we had been set down and ushered to our seats, the Doctor's hands had fisted into my sleeve and his breaths came in harsh gasps.

"Are you okay?" I asked, glancing down at the trembling Time Lord. He was almost in tears.

"B-B-B-B-Bald," he stammered, burying his face into my shoulder. Cue my internal victory dance. But then, the reality of this situation hit me like a ton of granite bricks: the Doctor was afraid of bald men. I held back giggles, taking the opportunity to pat his head and stroke back his hair. Soft.

"It's okay, Doctor. Just start reciting facts or something and try to calm down," I coaxed. "They're friendly, aren't they?"

"B—B-B-Bald," the Doctor repeated, before taking a wavering breath before rattling off random bits of trivia. "Arachnaphobia: the overwhelming fear of spiders. Somnipobia: the overwhelming fear of sleep. Traumaphobia: the overwhelming fear of injury. Peladophobia: the overwhelming fear of bald people. Baldness is the absence of hair in an area where it usually grows. Baldness is caused by various factors: 1. Genetics, 2. Chemotherapy or other radiation, 3. Stress…"

And there he went, hyperventilating again until his face turned a sickly pale shade and he openly passed out in his seat. Ari, from his left side, glanced concernedly over at me and I shrugged, silently agreeing that we had to go. I hauled the unconscious Sex God onto my shoulders, _and I can see you're giggling again, Ms. Back-Row, don't make me come back there!_, and waited for Ari to explain to the Chieftain-person why we had to leave the party so soon. Apparently, these bald-dwarf-people didn't speak English, because it took Ari twenty minutes, five plates, and a live chicken to sign out a discernable apology.

It didn't go over well. We actually translated what Ari said after the fact and it turns out that he had signed "your mother drinks olive oil for my pleasure" which is, apparently, a great insult. He told me that Stan said it had meant "sorry, but we must leave", and I vowed that I would kick Stan's ass, whoever he was, once we found him. Maybe the shadow…nah.

In any case, I won't bore you with the harrowing chase scene and near-death escape that we managed all with an unconscious Doctor (_take THAT, Ms. Back-Row!_), but we made good time back to the TARDIS and sent ourselves to our last destination, all without the aid of our adorable Doctor.

It was a while before he came back around, but it was definitely worth the wait. He woke up all flushed and embarrassed looking, but that could be because I insisted I keep nearby until he roused himself. My personal definition of "nearby" means that the cataleptic person in question lays back against my chest on some random bed, courtesy of the ever-fantastic TARDIS, until they are aware enough to, yet again, threaten my manliness with a sonic screwdriver.

He instantly tried to bolt, spewing out some bullshit about needing to set coordinates or check the power converters or microwave a Hot Pocket. Not today, dearest. I laced my arms around his waist, dragging his cute little ass back down onto my lap and effectively trapping him within my devilishly seductive embrace.

"Why didn't you tell us you were afraid of bald people?" I queried, breathing against his neck as he shuddered.

"It never came up," he replied, trying his "Holier-Than-Thou" voice and failing miserably. "When would we ever be on a planet of entirely bald people?"

"Yesterday, apparently," was my retort. The Doctor frowned, _pouting_ for Christsakes, and he tried to get up again.

"If you're going to be mean about it—"

"I'm not being mean," I protested, increasing the pressure of my arms. He's warm too, did I mention that? "How do you expect me to protect you if I don't know what to protect you from?"

"I don't need protecting from…from bald people!" the Doctor spat, looking mortified and, _oh god that pout again!_ I tilted his head back a little, offering a chaste peck onto his cheek. See, I have self-control too.

"You can't stand on your own forever," I pointed out. The Doctor's expression softened a little as I leaned down and captured his lips briefly. He tastes a lot like butterscotch, which is why I like it so much. The Self-Control flag when up again and I pulled back, leaving my, yes, _my_, Timelord, looking heated and oh-so-ravishable (that's a word now).

"Jack…"

"Oh _fantastic_. Mushy crap." Retrospectively, I'm amazed that neither of us got whiplash, as fast as our head snapped up and away to find the voice. I'm not quite sure what it was at first; it was black, slightly transparent, and had a face and these weird spikes on the top of its head. It was coming in through the crack at the bottom of the door and I could hear Ari's scandalized voice from the other side of the door.

"Stan! That's very rude! Get back out here!"

"Don't tell me what to do, slave!" the black thing snarled, glowing yellow eyes narrowing as it disappeared underneath the door jamb. My jaw was hanging open as the Doctor made some sort of sputtering noise in the back of his throat. Then the shadow was—

"Ari! Hold on a second!" the Doctor cried, scrambling to his feet and tripping out of the bed towards the door. "What the hell was that!?"

While I was recovering from a near heart attack after realizing that my shipmate did indeed have a possessed shadow, I had a moment between palpitations to reflect upon what had just transpired. I had just kissed the Doctor and, unless I was horribly mistaken and some malicious author was fucking with my mind, he had kissed back before running off after shadow-inhabiting demonic entities. I allowed myself one tiny squeal into my hands before looking around to ensure I was alone.

"HAH! BALD PEOPLE!! WHO COULD'VE KNOWN!? HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

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Ye-ah...so...reviews are highly appreciated.  
(glances around)  
WHOO-HOO!! FIRST FIC FINISHED!!! TAKE THAT BILL GATES!!! YAHOO!!


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